Somewhere in the back of the field, far, far away (counting on about twenty feet, give or take) a dumb blonde buries it's head in the grass...Literally. It doesn't seem to have realised the benefits of comfort when lying on it's back instead of its face. Seriously. We'd blame television or the dumbing down of exams, but this one doesn't take notice of either... I mean, we can't even blame the hair colour-- y'know, roots down to the brain-- because he isn't a natural! I'll be frank. Nino's just stupid. Oh wait. … He's sulking...The cool, sharp scent of the earth was the first thing he noticed. It was the kind of mint-wrapper crisp, damp tree smell that rose from grass like ghosts with the first warm afternoon following a long month of drizzle. The breath hissed through the gaps in his teeth as he drew it in, filled his lungs. The pressure dipped in the stretch of his belly and bulged just beneath his chest, he could have burst with it. Nino screwed his eyes fiercly shut and clung to it's familiarity like a child and a security blanket--
--Except, you know, it was a gangly pile of teen and a hedgehogs backside of grass--
---and let the echoes of every field they'd pitched camp in, throughout the length of the little blondes childhood, fill him like a cup.
Privately he hoped he'd drown in it.
Perhaps watch from the bottom as the rest of the world (or at least the rest of the bloody lesson) flew from him, like so much April rain pouring from the rim of the glass and spilling out on the floor somewhere beyond his watery safe house. At least then it wouldn't be his respected duty to clean up his own emotional mess after himself. God forbid!
He. Would. Be. Free.
Free to do what?
Drink more? Sulk More? Lounge about on the Xbox and paint his toe nails more? Oh he had no such luck and since he'd taken the care to hold it for so long, the exhale was considerably more violent, the air took off in bursts like a frightened bird from captivity, wings clipping his burning lungs as they went.
Nino groaned up from the floor and re-sprawled himself with as much dramatic showmanship as he could muster from his artillery of carnival experience. Nice to know ten years of hook-a-duckaneering did more than just decorate his résumé. Much to his disappointment no one dashed over and dropped to their knees or screamed or anything good like that, instead he ended up with tendrils of kamikaze greenery sneaking between his lips, cramp in his shoulder and a full assault of dew trying to infiltrate the slight showing seam of boxers from where his shirt had hitched up. That was going to be a topic of conversation later-- just you wait-- oh he could see it now! Queue wobbly screen effect and harp! At least one blithering idiot back on dorm would clock that and, unable to resist it's siren call, holler, “OI! O'Mooney, y'dick! Pissed yourself?”
Oh joy of joys!
The anticipation was
killing him.... though not half as much as this lesson was... the mumble of conversation covered the field outside the castle like a blanket, people were
excited to be outdoors-- what were they talking about now? The chemical equation of snails?
Nino's baby blues narrowed to slits as though somehow by squinting he might suddenly gain a better sense of hearing. After a moment of trying to carve meaning out of his classmates various syllables and jump the lesson wagon again he snorted and started fiddling the air pressure around the nearest daisy making it bend one way and then the other.
He didn't understand a word, natural academic he was! Oh, it was boring anyway!
There they were trying to entice him out of his dream world with
that? You'd have to do better than that, kids! Ignoring his lesson, he felt like the clever mouse in the hole watching them fill traps with cheese, staying put and knowing better. Instead he curled up in the cool sun and left his eyes fighting their own adventures through the giant-from-down-here blades of grass, beads of soil clung to their slick coats like boulders angled Coyote-and-roadrunner-esque on swooping canyons. It was like adventure games all over again. Shrink him down and hand him the Excalibur and all that!
Ants, he thought decidedly,
had such an awesome lot in life! No one could persuade him otherwise! Not with all the ant poison in the world! “I wanna nick me a picnic,” he muttered quietly at the floor, like the one kid in the supermarket who throws himself at Gods mercy and dribbles on the lino until his mammy buys sweeties, “What must I do t'assimilate inta yer socie'y, dear ants?” Nino was a much a'credited mumbler according to his Ma, who could, in a heartbeat, trace the bad habit back to before he'd learned language to mumble with! Question her further and the old hippy could paint you a detailed picture of a bug eyed, chocolate mouthed tot warbling angry sounded noises at the trailer window because a bumble bee landed there. He didn't like bees.
Which seemed to be the secret code, his red button per say, to start off the low uttering reaction. No, not bees in particular, but just about anything that failed to tickle his fancy, which in total was an awful lot. You could call it a side effect of sulking--
- - Only Nino
didn't sulk.
Let's make that clear.
Nino
never sulked.
…. He merely expressed utmost displeasure in a very creative outlet. Like a good boy!
“I'll pull an Avatar and live amongst yer people, learn yer ways,” movie voice overs in thick Irish cockney was never a good idea, “mate with yer women--” Nino frowned, “--maybe not, but--”
--through the line of the lawn his gaze snagged on something. A small, dark shape, not too far off that you couldn't make it out, but far enough that from his angle it took a little more identifying.
Nino hauled himself upright, absently brushing crumbs of dirt from his front, squinting in the harsh morning light, pale brow almost kissing in the middle.
At first glance it was more of a rocky outpost on the edge of the green, probably closer to the lack, maybe a cluster of funny stones at odds and ends against the small cliff face, but if you turned your head just right the surface fell inwards and pooled into shadows. He cocked his head, platinum mop bunching on one skinny rack of a shoulder. Very cavey shadows. Very cool shadows. But most of all very explorable shadows...
He clambered skywards, boot leather squeaking reluctantly against the wet earth-- probably gibbering
'No Nino! Don't do this!! It's naughty and possibly very muddy! Think of the resale value! Oh won't someone think of our resale value?!'-- but he was on his feet in seconds, glancing breathlessly over his shoulder to check for anyone watching him, before he started to edge away, straying from the flock.
They were too busy chanting nonsey free poetry, or painting themselves green or whatever it was modern hippies/Earth-lings did with themselves these days anywa--
"And where do you think you're going, niño?" It was a noise so vivid it could have physically pinned you if it wanted to, so feminine that if it did it would have soft hands that smelt like nice things, like peaches or buttercream.
Mmm! Butter cream!
The slinky begger froze in his tracks with a wince. If the voice didn't give her away, the pet name certainly did. He liked to think it was Nell's little way of admitting the unfathomable extents of her love for him, but suspected, at least in this case that the cute, clever thing served as kind of a punishment. How on earth had she spotted him though?! He'd checked already and the path was clear! The space behind him was empty as an ice cream parlour in the arctic! Nell had appeared from the fack'n ether to give him a heart attack! Flower she was, she'd sprung up from the ground!
He raised both palms slowly and carefully at his side, letting the sleeves drop and everything—see, no tricks there-- back still to her and put on his best pleading voice, “Don't shoot guv'ner! I'm a good man!” a crooked grin pinched at his features as he spun on his heel and got a good look at the old girl, “Y'know what I t'ink o' that name!” he pouted playfully. She had such a glow to her! Warm hair, like rich tree bark that's felt the sun, peachy skin, rounded pink lips perched like a dolls purse in the heart of her baby complexion, made a string of affection purr up from the bottom of his belly and rev like a Ferrari in his chest.
He'd seen her enough to know that; Nell. In a good mood. Was wicked. Good. Fun.
He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the cave, “Nah,” which presumably meant 'now', “I don' know 'bout you, but I haven't been exploring in AGES!” he hinted.
